


Outwait the Night

by i_claudia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-02
Updated: 2007-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Remus noticed, as he snagged his second glass of champagne from a tray floating by, was that James was holding Lily’s hand too tightly</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outwait the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 hp_quotathon, originally posted [here](http://hp-quotathon.livejournal.com/2316.html). (02 December 2007)

The first thing Remus noticed, as he snagged his second glass of champagne from a tray floating by, was that James was holding Lily’s hand too tightly. His friend kept looking in wonder at Lily, and seemed to have the idea that if he let go she might disappear forever in a cloud of glittering smoke. Lily, for her part, seemed to be trying to gently prise her fingers free, but kept close to James nevertheless. It would be nice to have that kind of public closeness, Remus thought, draining his glass. The kind of closeness where you could sit twined together on a park bench in your own circle of light and no one would think twice about it.

James was justified, he supposed. Newlyweds were supposed to be disgustingly inseparable, supposed to have a few blissful golden months before the reality of dirty laundry and who was supposed to have made dinner set in. They weren’t supposed to have to worry about a madman on the loose, attempts on their lives, or the world falling down around them as they clung desperately to each other. 

The ceremony had been nice enough, the speeches warm, the conversation light and relatively mindless. At first glance, it seemed a perfect day. With a closer look, though, Remus knew that any outsider would be able to sense the cracks in the thin veneer of normalcy. Grim-looking Order wizards stood around in small groups, talking quietly. He spotted Moody hunched in a corner, his new eye spinning wildly, and tried not to look too closely at the damage the man had come away with in the last attack. When a laugh did ring out over the crowd, it sounded unnaturally loud and harsh, and was quickly hushed.

It almost feels like a funeral, Remus thought wryly. But who would be the corpse? All of them, perhaps, by the time this war was through. Death Eater raids were happening more and more frequently, and it was becoming impossible to predict who the next target would be.

His morbid train of thought was interrupted by Peter, who handed him another glass of champagne. Remus took it with a nod and a smile.

“How are you, Pete?”

Peter shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“I suppose that’s how we all are.” Remus took a closer look at Peter as the other man plucked a mysterious-looking pastry off a nearby tray. His friend was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and the hand that gripped his glass was trembling. There were creases around his eyes and forehead that hadn’t been there when they had left Hogwarts. They’d all had some hard times since then, Remus reckoned, but Peter looked like a man run to the edge.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, Remus,” he answered. His voice was harsh, but he tempered it with a wan smile. “Just tired, I suppose.”

Remus knew when to let something lie. “Well, I’m glad you got the time off to come to the wedding. We don’t see much of you these days.”

Peter chuckled. “As if I’d miss Prongs’ wedding. Who’d have thought he’d finally get Evans to say yes?”

“We’ve all changed,” Remus mused aloud. “Once he got his head in the right place he was a good sort. And Lily keeps his feet on the ground.”

“We were pretty dim in school, weren’t we?” Peter said, a strange look on his face. “Maybe not in classes, but about a lot of things.” 

Remus nodded his assent. “Isn’t that what school is for? Getting yourself sorted so you can know what you’re about and function in a somewhat normal way.”

“Some people never change their colors, though,” replied Peter, looking over Remus’ shoulder. Remus looked around, but all he could see was Sirius deep in conversation with Frank Longbottom. He turned back to Peter, puzzled, but Peter didn’t seem to notice his confusion. He clapped Remus on the shoulder.

“I’ve really got to get going, so I should go pay my respects to the happy couple. It was good to see you, Remus.”

Remus shook the hand Peter extended, feeling odd and overly formal. “See you around, Pete. Don’t let them work you into the ground.”

Peter shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

After Peter disappeared back into the crowd, Remus turned back around to watch Sirius and Frank, trying to figure out what Peter had been talking about. After a few moments, he shrugged it off. Of course they’d never have to worry about Sirius changing sides. Remus gave a small half-smile at the thought. As if Sirius would ever so much as think about joining the same side as his blood relatives. The Marauders were his real family now; he’d made that abundantly clear.

Sirius, as if hearing his thoughts, looked up and smiled at him—a smile that warmed Remus to the core. Sirius’s smiles always bordered on indecency, Remus thought; the way they trapped you so you lost yourself in them was almost criminal. He smiled back, and they stood like that for a moment, grinning stupidly at each other. Frank finally broke Remus’s gaze when he waved. Remus waved back, reluctantly stealing one last look at Sirius, who had schooled his face back into vague politeness.

Remus turned away, with half a mind to find the trays with the pastries Peter had been eating. As he did so, he caught sight of Lily, who was watching him shrewdly. He gave a quick wave to her as well, uneasily winding his way through the crowd away from her. Lily was sharper than James or Peter, and sometimes he thought that... no, he told himself sternly. No sense in being paranoid. No one knew, and if Lily guessed... well, she was a smart woman. She’d be subtle about it. They didn’t have to worry about her.

His search for pastries had just proven successful when an unfamiliar Patronus flew in through the window, and he watched it silently until it dipped down below the heads of the crowd and was lost from view. His gut clenched. Another call from the Order, another wizard or Muggle dead or in trouble, another member risking their life for the Cause. Couldn’t they have one day—just one—of peace? he thought angrily. Suddenly, any appetite he’d had for the pastry in his hand was gone. He tried to act casually, tried to regain the warm feeling the champagne had given him and lose the tightness of his throat, but the effort just made him feel more exhausted.

He looked around surreptitiously, gauging the reactions of those around him. He watched McGonagall’s tartan-covered back move towards the Prewitt brothers and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The men leaned down towards her, and soon the four of them were deep in conversation. 

Remus sighed and picked at a thread coming loose on the sleeve of his robe. It wasn’t exactly that he was jealous of those who were higher up in the Order, but sometimes he wished they trusted him more. None of them were really overt about it—he knew that if he asked them outright they’d stare at him in shock—but the truth was in the little glances, the inches of distance that turned into miles when they stood next to him. He hated them for it, hated the wolf for changing him that much in the eyes of others.

Thoroughly morose, he went looking for Sirius. After fifteen minutes or so of fruitless searching, he finally gave up and went to ask Lily and James if they’d seen him, pushing aside the niggling voice in the back of his head.

“Remus!” Lily said, beaming at him. Remus smiled back. He and Lily had had a close friendship for years, from before any of the Marauders had been interested in girls for purposes other than pranking.

James peered over her shoulder, pushing his glasses up and grinning as well. “Hey, mate! We were wondering when you were going to stop avoiding us.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” said Remus indignantly. “I was socializing like the good, upstanding, almost-best man I am.”

James laughed. Merlin, it was good to hear James laugh. He didn’t do it nearly enough anymore. “Don’t let Padfoot hear you. He might think you were trying to usurp his position.”

“Nah,” Remus said, trying to seem casual. “But speaking of Sirius, have either of you seen him recently? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to him yet.”

James and Lily exchanged worried looks.

“What?” Remus asked, the voice in his head growing louder.

“Remus,” Lily began, hesitant, “he was the one the Patronus came for. They’ve called him out into the field.”

“Oh.”

Of course. It all made sense. It all made so much _bloody_ sense. It didn’t matter if you were the best man at your best friend’s wedding, didn’t matter that this was the one single day you could forget about fighting and the war and evil maniacs and _dying_ , no, they called you into the field and didn’t care who you were and what you were doing. And... his breath caught as he realized. Sirius hadn’t said goodbye. He might be going out to _die_ and he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.

Lily must have seen the bitterness in his eyes. “I’m sure it was something really important if they’d call him out on... today.” She smoothed her thumb over James’ hand, looking at him in concern. James looked at Remus, looking more tired that any man had a right to be on the day of his wedding.

“He came by just long enough to say goodbye to us. He probably didn’t see you.”

Remus cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” It was a logical explanation, from James’s view. He forced down the mean-spirited thought that of course Sirius would say goodbye to _James_ and _Lily_. “It’s been lovely,” _yeah, just perfect_ he thought to himself. “But I really should get going. Congratulations to you both. Really. You deserved a good day like today.”

James took his extended hand and pulled him into a manly hug. “Thanks for coming, Moony. It means a lot to have you here.”

Remus extricated himself and smiled. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Lily embraced him quickly, then stepped back, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes searching his face. “Will you be alright, Remus?” she asked quietly.

He looked away. “I’ll be fine, Lily.” Meeting her eyes, he added a soft “Thanks”. 

She gave his shoulders a quick squeeze and let go. “We’ll see you for dinner in a few weeks?”

He nodded. “After the full mo—er.” He stopped himself just in time and looked around nervously to make sure no one was within earshot. Damn, it was so easy to let his guard down with them. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

***

He must have gotten home somehow. He wasn’t quite sure how, with his vision narrowed and his ears roaring. At first he’d tried to tell himself it was the champagne, but he knew it wasn’t. Shock, he told himself, and spent some time—minutes? hours?—staring at the collection of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer bottles in their liquor cabinet, wondering if it would numb the emotions or if he was too numb already to even feel it.

In the end he just sat on the couch in the darkness of their flat, watching the moonlight trace its way across the worn carpet. The clock on the mantle was ticking quietly away. It was the only thing Sirius had from the Blacks, other than his uncle’s generosity. He’d said he’d taken it just to piss his family off, but Remus thought he knew better. He’d tried to point that out once, but Sirius had gone quiet and dangerous and Remus had backed down. So the clock sat on their fireplace, an awful monstrosity of an antique, all silver and onyx, humming malevolently to itself and telling Remus sharply that it was Very Expensive and Heavens, Be Careful whenever he tried to clean the mantle.

It hadn’t been like this at first, he thought, putting his head back and staring at the ceiling. There had been light and laughter and _love_ , even if the world was falling down around them, but now the darkness was creeping in from the world and Remus hated it. Hated the dark, and the people who had brought it, and hated the moon, because although its beams were bathing the room in soft, innocent light now, soon it too would bring darkness.

***

Remus woke late the next day feeling groggy and achy where the springs of the couch had been digging into his back. Disoriented, he squinted around the room, nearly blinded by the afternoon sunlight streaming through the curtains.

Something moved in the next room, making a soft shuffling sound. He tensed, mind racing. They’d put wards up, but wards could always be broken. No reason to worry yet, he told himself sternly. Strange sounds did not necessarily mean a Death Eater had broken in. Still, he tried to move as quietly as possible off the couch, tiptoeing to the nearly closed door into the kitchen. He stood behind it for a moment, steadying his nerves before slowly pushing the door open and peering cautiously into the room.

Sirius stood in front of the sink, his back to the door, swearing quietly under his breath. He looked as though he had spent the night camped out in a ditch—which he probably had, mused Remus. Sirius was caked with mud; he’d tracked a thick trail of it onto the linoleum and it had puddled beneath him where he stood. His shoulders were slumped, and the strength he usually exuded appeared to have vanished.

Remus stood frozen, torn between the desire to embrace the other man and the urge to hit him. He was glad Sirius was back, and he knew Sirius was as likely turn down a mission from the Order as Remus himself was—which was to say, never. Still, he couldn’t quite suppress the small, mean voice that whispered that maybe Sirius looked forward to getting away from Remus, that maybe he went recklessly into danger looking for escape.

He took a deep breath, forcefully shoved those thoughts back, and stepped into the kitchen, pushing the door fully back. Sirius whirled around at the soft wail of the hinges, his hand automatically reaching for a wand that wasn’t there. Remus held up his hands with a wry look, and Sirius relaxed. Remus took the opportunity to study Sirius more closely, disliking what he saw. Sirius looked exhausted, and his skin had a grey tinge to it that made him look ten years older.

“Tough mission?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Sirius shrugged. “As usual.” His mouth twisted down, giving his face bleak lines, and he added, more harshly, “I hate these scum. They’re so bloody difficult to pin down.”

Remus knew Sirius’s look well. It was the expression all of them wore when they came back from another encounter with death.

“Who?” he asked, voice tight, wanting to know and yet dreading the answer.

Sirius shook his head. “Muggles. Didn’t even see what hit them.” He turned back to the sink, then stumbled and winced, leaning heavily on the counter.

Remus was by his side in a flash, dropping his wand as all thoughts were pushed aside except the fact that Sirius was hurt, Sirius was injured and Remus should have known right away, would have known right away except that Sirius was wearing dark trousers and the muck disguised the blood on the floor.

“Sirius...”

Sirius winced and pushed himself back upright. “’S alright, Moony. Just a scratch.”

Remus eased himself gently under Sirius’s arm. “Come on, Padfoot. Let’s take a proper look at you.”

Sirius sighed, but allowed himself to be led to a chair. He sat down carefully, and Remus knelt beside him to look at the damage. A tear on the side of Sirius’s robes revealed an ugly-looking gash on the outside of his thigh, still bleeding sluggishly. Remus hissed in sympathy.

“Got it off an old school friend,” Sirius said waspishly. “Dear Snivellus, showing his true colors in style.”

Remus shook his head as he got up to retrieve his wand. “You know, I always thought he’d turn out better than that.”

Sirius snorted. “Sure, and maybe one day Kneazles will fly. Good thing he still has terrible aim, though, or I wouldn’t be sitting here. He’s got the loathing down right for the curses, but he can’t hit a thing.”

Remus stopped, his back to Sirius. There it was again, that specter looming over all of them, and there again was Sirius, laughing in its face. “You could have died,” he said softly in the direction of the sink. 

Sirius’s voice came from behind him, tinged with irony. “We _all_ might die, Moony. Death Eaters could smash the door in right now and kill us both.”

Remus sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t worth arguing over. “Never mind.” He grabbed his wand and a cloth hanging near the sink and turned around to face Sirius.

Sirius studied him, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, Remus?”

“Nothing.”

“Bollocks.”

“It’s nothing.” Remus knelt by Sirius’s chair again, tearing the rip in his trousers wider so he could sponge away the worst of the blood.

“Moony.” Sirius’s voice was soft. He slid his hand along Remus’ jaw, gently raising his chin. “Don’t do this. Don’t close me out.”

Remus closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, bringing his own hand up to grasp Sirius’s.

“Just suppose,” he said, not meeting Sirius’s eyes. “Imagine if Snape had got you, if you hadn’t made it out. It might’ve been an owl in the kitchen that woke me up to give me a letter from the Order telling me...” He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and tightened his grip on Sirius’s hand. “Merlin,” he said with a weak chuckle, “you must think I’m such a girl.”

“What?” replied Sirius with mock incredulity. “You’re much too manly for that. _I_ was the shrinking violet, remember? What with you practically having to jump me before I realized you were interested and all.”

Remus, caught off-guard by the memory, laughed. “I remember.” He looked up at Sirius, whose eyes were grave above the smile. “I could have lost you,” he said, sober again. “All I could think about last night was that maybe you were lying in a ditch somewhere, and I’d never had the chance to say goodbye.” Sirius opened his mouth, but Remus waved a hand to stop him. “I know the Order needs you. Needs us. I’m not about to say we should run and hide away and leave our friends to sort out this mess on their own. It’s just that sometimes...” He clenched his free hand at the hopelessness of it all. “I want to rip out his heart,” he said, voice almost a snarl. “Him and everyone that follows him. I hate it all. I hate this filthy war, hate not knowing if any of us are going to see the sun rise tomorrow morning, and it makes me want to kill him.”

Sirius turned in the chair and gripped Remus’s head with both hands, leaning down so that their foreheads knocked gently together. “Remus,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made Remus shiver. “We’ll make it through. You-Know-Who himself couldn’t stop me from coming home to you. Merlin, even if they _did_ manage to kill me, I’d find some way to come back.” He lifted his head and grinned lopsidedly at Remus. “You’re not getting rid of me _that_ easily. And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “when you rip his heart out, I want to help.”

Remus’s return smile was wobbly, but it held. Sirius leaned down impulsively and kissed him on the forehead. “We’ll be alright, Moony,” he said, snaking one arm around Remus’s shoulders. “I promise.”

Remus leaned into Sirius’s warmth, still holding his hand, surrendering. Sirius had the power to make everything seem fine; as long as Remus stayed within the circle of his arms, he could believe that their light would keep the darkness at bay.

He stayed there, pressed to Sirius’s side, Sirius’s face buried in his hair, until his leg fell asleep. He shifted uncomfortably, wincing, and cleared his throat. “Guess we should see about that leg of yours,” he said ruefully.

Sirius straightened, smiling. “Might help, unless you think I’d look dashing with a leg like Moody’s.” 

Remus chuckled. “ _Dashing_ isn’t really the word I’d use to describe Moody,” he said, reaching for his wand to heal the gash on Sirius’s leg.

Sirius never let go of his hand.

***

Sirius walked down the street, whistling. The sky was grey and threatening to rain, but he and Remus were both off-duty for a few days, and it seemed as though they were going to have a weekend to themselves for once. He’d left Remus sleeping to get something for a proper breakfast, since the only things he’d been able to find in their kitchen were either of questionable origin or growing mold.

He was choosing a loaf of bread when a woman’s voice behind him exclaimed, “Sirius Black!” He dropped the bread and whirled, wary. There was no one nearby except a brown-haired woman and a man who had his arm around her. Sirius squinted at them. The man was nondescript, but the woman... he recognized her, knew her from somewhere...

Comprehension clicked when she smiled the same small smile his Aunt Druella had always given him when she thought no one was looking. “Andromeda?” he said incredulously. 

His cousin turned to her husband and gave him the packages she was holding. “Go on, Ted, I’ll catch up.”

The man took the packages, though he looked nonplussed. “Are you sure, ’Dromeda?” He shot Sirius a dark look. Sirius looked back steadily. The man had good reason to distrust the Black family, but Sirius wasn’t about to be needled into an argument. Besides, he’d always secretly admired Andromeda for breaking away from the family and marrying a Muggle.

“I’ll be fine, Ted. I’ll see you at home—go make sure ’Dora isn’t bringing the house down around her ears.”

Ted left reluctantly, and Andromeda turned back to Sirius. “Well,” she said.

“Well,” Sirius replied carefully.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since...” She stopped herself. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets. “Since my dear mother burned your name off that damned tree, I think,” he said, trying to sound careless and off-hand. He still remembered it: the smell of burnt fabric, the ashes dancing down through the few rays of sunlight that filtered past the layers of age and dust, the finality of the small hole, around which the cloth was already fraying. He supposed his name had met the same fate, and wondered if his brother had watched as his mother had shrieked and screamed and scorched his name into dust.

“Yes,” said Andromeda, voice soft. “That sounds about right.” She held out her arm, and after a brief hesitation, he took it.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Andromeda spoke again. “How are you, Sirius?”

“I’m fine.”

She looked at him, eyebrow raised. “I can see the circles under your eyes, cousin. You haven’t been sleeping.”

Sirius snorted. “Well, with all of the ‘avoiding death on a daily basis’, I don’t have much time for anything as luxurious as a full night of sleep.”

She looked away again. “We’ve had to move a few times now. Last month, Ted took ’Dora out to feed the ducks a few miles from the house and when they came back...” Her voice caught and she blinked rapidly. Sirius reached across and patted her shoulder awkwardly with his free hand.

“The war’s been hard on everyone,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, and the conversation trailed off into silence once more.

Sirius was starting to think about excusing himself so he could get back to his flat and Remus when Andromeda spoke again.

“Have you spoken to your brother lately?”

He started. “Regulus? That little Death Nibbler? I bloody well haven’t,” he said, the familiar anger surging in to warm him.

“You shouldn’t cut him off,” Andromeda told him disapprovingly. “Maybe all Regulus needs is a friendly hand to pull him out of the dark.”

“Maybe,” said Sirius roughly. “But I won’t be the one to give it to him. The only thing I’d like to give that little pureblood suck-up is a swift kick in the—”

“Sirius.” He stopped, staring fiercely at the pavement instead. Regulus, the apple of his mother’s eye; Regulus, the true Black son; Regulus, who spouted all the Death Eater catch-phrases proudly with one eye on Sirius to see how he’d react. “Look, you should at least try to meet with him.” 

“Why should I?” Sirius demanded, pulling his arm out of hers and turning to look at her. “Why should I have to talk to that little toady when he’s happily up to his ears in the Dark Arts? It’s what he always dreamed of; following in the footsteps of our horrible ancestors, being the _better_ son, the true heir to their poisonous legacy. I left so I wouldn’t have to so much as look at _any_ of them—and that includes him.”

Andromeda looked at him sadly, which only added to his anger. What right did she have to tell him he should mend bridges with the people he’d tried so hard to get away from? She was just as much a black sheep as he was.

“Have you done the same with your sisters?” he asked rudely, not caring about the shadow that passed over her face with the mention of her own siblings. “I’ll bet that was a cheerful reunion. ‘Hullo Bella, hullo Cissy, how are you? Are your husbands well? Tell me, are you enjoying killing off all of my husband’s relatives?’” 

Andromeda glared at him. “Stop it, Sirius. Don’t take your anger out on me.”

He looked down, the thrumming in his veins subsiding somewhat.

Andromeda continued, impassioned now. “The war’s hurting us all, Sirius—our generation, our parent’s generation, everyone—but it’s going to hurt you and your friends most of all. You younger ones, you’re the ones who are out there, killing, dying; you had to grow up overnight, and you’re the ones who are going to have to rebuild this world when the war is over, to save it from the older wizards who hold up tradition as the only way to live and let evil live on. You can’t let the divisions between you stop you from fixing the bigger problems.

“Regulus might want nothing to do with you,” she added. “He might be too far gone into You-Know-Who’s service. But when it’s all over, he’ll remember that you reached out to him, and that will help him reach back out to you if he ever needs to. It might help save him.”

“He doesn’t need saving,” Sirius shot back.

“Look, Sirius, will you at least promise to think about it? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but will you at least consider the idea?”

Sirius hesitated, but, he reasoned, he didn’t _actually_ have to think about it, and agreeing meant he could get back to Remus sooner rather than later.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, “but don’t expect anything to actually happen.”

Andromeda clasped his hand. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” she said warmly. She looked at her watch. “I should get back to Ted and ’Dora, but it was good to see you, Sirius.”

“It was good to see you, too,” he replied. “Take care.”

“You as well,” she said. She started to walk away, then paused and turned back towards him. “Before the last attack,” she said, not looking at him directly, “I did owl my sisters. They never wrote back.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I had to try.”

Sirius watched as she disappeared into the crowd, her back held straight and proud in true Black style. His bag of groceries was warming, but his mind was full of masked figures and flames. Finally, he shook himself free of his thoughts and returned to his own flat, which was safe and warm, where Remus was waiting for him and breakfast.

***

Remus peered around the doorframe cautiously. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Dumbledore looked up from his desk and smiled, beckoning Remus inside. “Yes, yes, my dear boy. Come in and shut the door against the draft.”

Remus entered, closing the door carefully behind him as he looked around the room with interest. He had never been in Dumbledore’s office before; even as a prefect he had never had a reason to enter here, the inner sanctum. The room, he thought wryly, looked and felt a great deal like the man himself. Strange instruments whirred in corners and cabinets, maps and books lay strewn messily about in a fashion that nevertheless felt ordered, as if some invisible force had planned the exact position of each. A great red bird hummed contentedly in one corner—a phoenix, Remus realized. He hadn’t known Dumbledore had a phoenix.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Remus snapped back into reality, walking forward into the room.

“Please, sit,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to a plush red armchair sitting in front of his desk, and Remus sat obediently, surreptitiously glancing up at the portraits of former headmasters, most of whom seemed to be snoring. Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of his face and regarded Remus for a long moment; Remus, for his part, tried his best not to squirm uncomfortably under the piercing gaze. The twinkle was gone from Dumbledore’s eyes, and the lined face under the half-moon glasses looked tired and worn. Remus wondered suddenly how old Dumbledore actually was.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. “You have been doing excellent work for the Order this far, Remus and if you’d like to continue doing more typical missions you certainly may. The mission I am about to give you is dangerous, possibly one of the most dangerous missions the Order is asking anyone to take on, and I want you to think seriously before you accept it.”

Remus straightened in his chair. “I’m willing to accept whatever mission the Order gives me, Professor. I want to do my part for the cause.”

Dumbledore was still watching him over the top of his glasses. “Are you certain, Remus? You are the only one I can give this mission to, but I do not want you to rush headlong into something when you would rather continue to do what you have been doing.”

“I’m certain, sir,” Remus answered, wondering what the mission could possibly be, that Dumbledore was so concerned about him. “I need to do whatever I can to help end this war, to defeat You-Know-Who—”

Dumbledore broke in. “Voldemort, Remus. Fear of a name increases fear...”

“Yes,” Remus said, interrupting the familiar saying, “him. I have to do my part, sir, and if I’m the only one who can do it, I’m ready to do it. The sooner this war ends, the sooner my friends are safe.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. He reached down and opened a small drawer in his desk and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment. He tapped it on the desk.

“This must be kept top-secret. I understand that it will be hard to keep it completely under wraps, but you must be as quiet about it as you can. We have reason to suspect that there is a spy inside the Order.”

Remus stared at Dumbledore, who sat looking back calmly, his white beard shining softly in the last rays of the dying sun. A spy? In the Order itself? _Rubbish!_ scoffed a voice in his mind. It must be a mistake. He could not imagine that any of them would spy for the Death Eaters; they were all dedicated to ending the war as fast as possible.

His face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Dumbledore pressed the point forward. “I do not want to believe it any more than you do, Remus, but it is a fact. Voldemort has had access to at least some of our plans, and has managed to disrupt or avoid us at nearly every turn recently.”

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand to cut him off. “It may be Imperius, I am not certain, but nevertheless we must take extra precautions. In this case, it means that the only two who should know about this mission are you and I.” He unfurled the parchment he held and fixed Remus with a level stare. “Is that understood?”

“Er,” said Remus, still trying to wrap his mind around the notion of a spy within the Order, “yes, sir.”

“Very well.” Dumbledore smoothed the parchment on the table, and cleared his throat.

“We have agents in many of the groups most vulnerable to Voldemort’s control and manipulation. However, there is one group that has been proving troublesome.”

Remus clenched his hands on the arms of the chair, all noble thoughts about ending the war gone. He thought he knew where Dumbledore was going, and he was damned if he was going to go quietly.

“I need you to go undercover with the werewolves, Remus. Greyback is leading them on larger hunts than ever before—we need to know their movements.”

“No.” Remus shook his head vehemently. “I can’t do it, Professor. I won’t.” He shivered. It was too dangerous; too much, too soon.

“Remus,” Dumbledore said softly. “There is no one else. Believe me, dear boy, I wish there was. I know how you feel about it—”

Remus stood up abruptly, toppling his chair. “How could you possibly know how it feels?” he demanded, letting out the anger that had been building swiftly beneath his skin. “You’ve never had the world look at you with fear or disgust. You can’t possibly know how it feels when the rational part of your mind is fighting and losing to the side that just wants blood, wants to run and tear and break and gnaw and never, never stop. You’ve never woken up after a full moon night feeling like you’ve been torn apart and glued together again. You don’t know anything about it.”

He felt awkward under Dumbledore’s gaze, but he held his ground. This wasn’t what he’d meant when he said he’d help the Order. He wasn’t about to give up his carefully constructed control to return to the madness—he couldn’t take the risk that the wolf lurking inside would break free.

For a moment, Remus noticed, Dumbledore had a distant look in his eyes, but he quickly shook it off and regarded Remus sadly. “I know more about that kind of hurt than you think I do,” he said after a minute. “And I cannot make you do this. But please, before you write it off completely, think about it first.” He hesitated. “We are losing this war, Remus. They have more people and more power, and we have to do more than just try to keep pace—we have to overcome them, defeat them, or our world will collapse under their ideas. We need someone on the inside. We need you.”

Remus turned away from Dumbledore, his organized thoughts in shambles, walking to a window and gazing out at the quiet evening. Fall was well underway, and the castle lay quietly in the chill of the gathering night. If he squinted, he thought he could just make out the gently swaying form of the Whomping Willow. So many nights he had spent beyond that tree in the Shack, or with the Marauders in the Forbidden Forest; those had been the best and the worst of times. The worst, from the pain and the power of the wolf; the best, because the Marauders had been there, laughing, joking, supporting him in his dark hours.

When he was honest with himself, he knew that he feared the wolf. He liked knowing that he had control over his actions, liked being able to go just so far into something and no farther. The wolf destroyed that; it took over and ‘Remus’ disappeared until the moon sank below the horizon again, leaving him with new scars and only snatches of memories from the night before. Going to the werewolves would mean voluntarily giving into the wolf, relinquishing the hard-won control so that he could blend with the rest of them, half-wild and ferocious. The pack mentality was frightening. He wasn’t sure if he could stay himself when everyone around him was howling for blood.

He sighed and leaned his hands on the sill. Despite his attempts to suppress it, he could already feel his answer slowly pressing up from the back of his skull. He knew enough about the war effort to know Dumbledore was right. They always seemed to be one step behind the Death Eaters wherever they went. He had effectively trapped himself, he thought wryly. He’d promised to perform the duties the Order called upon him to do, and he knew he had to keep that promise. _For the Marauders_ , he thought. _Not just to bring down You-Know-Who, not for vague concepts like the ‘greater good’, but for us. For the hope that we can grow old and crotchety together, that Lily and James will have passels of children, that Sirius will keep terrorizing birds on that motorbike of his, that Peter will finally pluck up the courage to ask out a girl. For us._

He turned to face Dumbledore, who had not moved from his seat. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Dumbledore smiled.

***

Remus leaned back on the sofa, cradling his plate of pie. Lily and James had taken it upon themselves to host “family” dinners for the Marauders, so that, as Lily put it, “you lot get some actual food in you”. He looked around the warm room contentedly. Sirius and James had their heads together by the crackling fire, talking softly. Peter sat in a worn armchair on the other side of the small room with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Remus studied him for a moment. He still looked the worse for wear. The circles under his eyes had deepened, and he had lost weight. Exhaustion from overwork, Remus speculated. None of them got much sleep anymore.

“You look pensive, Remus.” Lily sat next to him, tucking her feet up beneath her and propping her elbow on the back of the sofa. The firelight glinted off of the band of her wedding ring.

Remus shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing, really. Just lost in the ether, I suppose.” He half-turned to face her, nearly dropping his pie in the process. 

“Careful,” Lily said, catching his fork as it fell. “I might start to think you don’t like my cooking.” 

“No, it’s wonderful, really!” Remus protested, before catching the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He shook his head ruefully. “I really am starting to get old—what kind of Marauder doesn’t recognize a joke?”

She patted him on the shoulder. “A worn-out one. They must be keeping you busy; we hardly ever see you anymore.”

Remus nodded. “Fairly busy, yes,” he said vaguely.

A comfortable silence descended between them as Remus concentrated on his piece of pie. Lily stole a few bites, for which he shook his fork good-naturedly at her, but otherwise she stared into space, unusually pensive. Finally, he put his plate on the floor and looked at her.

“Alright, my friend,” he said. “’Fess up. What’s on your mind?”

Lily picked at the arm of the sofa, not meeting his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, falsely bright. “Why would anything be wrong?”

“I didn’t ask you what was _wrong_ ,” said Remus patiently. “I asked you what was on your mind, because obviously something’s bothering you.”

Lily answered him evasively. “It’s just strange, thinking of ourselves as ‘grown up’, you know? I mean, here we are, in our own flat... I’m _married_ , Remus, when just a few years ago the most I had to worry about was passing my Charms NEWTS.”

Remus waited patiently. Something was eating at her, and he knew that waiting her out was the best way to find out what it was. She continued picking at the sofa, worrying a small hole in the upholstery. Finally, Remus reached over and put his hand over hers, stilling her fidgeting. Lily looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow in question. She looked back down at the couch, flushing slightly.

“I might be pregnant,” she whispered. 

Remus blinked, surprised into silence. “Well,” he said awkwardly. “Congratulations?” What was one supposed to say to these sorts of announcements? “Does James know?”

“No,” Lily said, glancing at her husband, who was still deeply absorbed in conversation with Sirius. “As soon as he hears, he’ll go completely batty, and I’m not ready for that.”

Remus chuckled. “That sounds like our James.”

Lily twisted her hands. “I know I’m supposed to be happy about this, and I am. I’m in shock, really. But I can’t help but think...” she trailed off.

“Think what?” prompted Remus.

“Isn’t this a terrible time to bring a child into the world?” Lily said bluntly, turning back to face him. “I mean, what kind of life will we be able to give a baby? We’re always moving, and half the time one or the other of us are off fighting somewhere... who’s to say we’ll be able to raise a child or give them a good life? We’d do whatever we could, certainly, but with the war, everything is so uncertain.”

She looked downcast, weighted by worry, and Remus felt his heart twinge. He patted her hand where it lay on the cushion between them. “You worry too much,” he told her seriously. “It’s true, we’re mostly living moment-to-moment, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to give a kid a happy life. You and James would be the best parents anyone could ask for—you steady each other and balance each other out. We prepare for the future as best we can, we try to be ready for whatever might happen, but in the end we just have to enjoy the time we have.”

“Constant vigilance, right?” Lily said with a watery smile. Remus shrugged.

“If you want to sound like Moody, I suppose.”

Lily kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Remus. You really are the best.”

Remus waved her off, embarrassed, as James looked over. 

“Oi, Moony!” he exclaimed. “Are you seducing my wife on the sly?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Am I not allowed to have a private conversation with my friend anymore, husband?”

James sputtered. “Private conversation?” 

Lily laughed and went to him. “Let me stop you before you dig yourself into a deeper hole,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

Remus watched them with a small smile. They made a beautiful picture, he thought, sitting together, wrapped up cozily in their own private world. But try as he might, he could no longer concentrate on the warmth and light of the fire. He could feel the night pressing against the glass panes of the window, cooling his back and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

***

They met in an abandoned warehouse most nights, hooded figures in patched cloaks stealing through the shadows in the deserted streets. Remus never spoke much to any of them—he was there to listen, to gather information, to try and keep the wolf on a leash if he could.

It had not taken much effort to get in. Once he had proven that he was actually a werewolf, the others seemed to accept him as just another surly, stupid convert to the cause. Greyback had watched him suspiciously at first, but Remus had never given him an opportunity to voice the suspicions. And the first full moon, he thought grimly, had taken care of most of the remaining doubts. He tried not to think about that. Although he’d gotten word to the Order in time to have the village cleared before the moon rose, the scent of human had hung heavy over everything, making the wolf thrill and howl. He’d woken up the next morning in a panic, shivering, his muddled thoughts circling around the fact that there was no warm shaggy dog by his side, wondering if any of the wounds from the night were from living things unable to defend themselves against the pack.

He sighed, looking at the outside of the dilapidated warehouse, shifting his thoughts slightly, submerging quiet, law-abiding Remus beneath a veneer of wolfishness. As much as he would rather be anywhere else, he knew that if he didn’t show, it would give Greyback reason to ask hard questions. He growled. Fenrir Greyback was a true monster, a killing machine, and Remus’s arm still ached occasionally from the bite Greyback had given him when he was a child. If he ever got a chance to get back at the brute for everything he’d done, Remus knew he would take it.

_But that’s not likely to happen any time soon,_ he reminded himself, _so you’d best get going. You’ll be late._ Making sure his cloak was fastened securely, he stepped out of the shadows and stole across the street to the now-familiar door, speaking the password quietly and slipping inside.

The meetings were always the same on nights without the full moon. Greyback stood on a makeshift podium, whipping the assembly into a frenzy as he made extravagant promises to those who followed the Dark Lord faithfully. Remus tried to act as much like the others as possible without drawing undue attention to himself or losing himself completely.

Remus was leaving the meeting when he ran into a cloaked figure.

“Watch it!” a familiar voice snapped, and Remus stepped back in shock.

“Sirius?” he asked, confused. What would Sirius be doing here? Remus had the sudden, sinking thought that Sirius had followed him here.

The man pushed back his hood, and someone who was definitely not Sirius looked at him with Sirius’s trademark smirk.

“How kind of you to ask after my traitor brother,” the man said. Remus peered more closely at him.

“Regulus?” He’d only seen Sirius’s brother once or twice, mostly from a distance. “What are you doing here?” he asked before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to even know who Regulus was, let alone question why he was here.

Regulus puffed up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m here to meet with Greyback, on the Dark Lord’s orders.”

Remus glanced at Regulus’s forearm before he could stop himself, and Regulus smirked again. It wasn’t just Sirius who had perfected that look, Remus remembered. It was the whole bloody Black family. Sirius’s cousins had the same cold smile as well.

Recognition finally dawned in Regulus’s eyes. “You’re that werewolf friend of Sirius’s, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes boring into Remus. Remus made a noncommittal answer and stared at the floor, tense. The last thing he needed was for Regulus to rat him out to Greyback.

“Yes,” mused Regulus, “I remember now. He went around with you, that fat oaf Pettigrew and the one with the glasses.”

Remus glared at him. “What do you want?”

Regulus gave him an inscrutable look, the smirk still hovering in the corners of his mouth. It chilled Remus to see Sirius’s familiar eyes staring at him with hostility out of a strange face.

Finally, Regulus spoke. “I have better things to do than talk to a werewolf who’s friends with a blood traitor.” He made to move by Remus, but Remus, instinctively grabbed his arm as he went by. Regulus looked at him in distaste, eyebrows raised.

“Unhand me.”

Remus hung onto the sleeve of Regulus’s robe as the other man tried to pull away. “Wait,” Remus said. “Are you going to tell them?”

Regulus’s eyebrows rose higher. “Tell who?” he asked pointedly. “And what, exactly, would I be telling them?”

Remus narrowed his eyes and Regulus seemed to remember that he was talking to a werewolf in a werewolf safe house.

“If you mean your connection with my dear brother,” he said, shaking Remus’s hand off, “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“What do you—” Remus began, but Regulus wasn’t finished.

“I’ll be sure to say hello to Sirius for you, though,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

Remus reacted without thinking, pinning Regulus against the wall with an arm across his throat. “Think carefully about what you say to me,” he growled. “What are you doing meeting with Sirius?”

Regulus stood stock still, but maintained an arrogant calm. “Meeting him. And _you_ might want to think carefully about what you say to _me_ ,” he advised, the warning clear in his voice. Remus ignored it.

“You’re lying,” he snarled.

“I never lie,” Regulus said heatedly, his anger finally showing through. “Perhaps someday you’ll realize that blood is the strongest force in our world, and blood will out, no matter what you people think. Now take your hands off me before I gut you.”

Before Remus could react, he felt the cold pinprick of a knife on his side. It burned his skin and sent shooting pains through his gut. He stumbled back. “Silver,” he said in accusation.

“Of course,” said Regulus sharply. “You didn’t think I’d come waltzing into a werewolf convention without a little tactical advantage, did you?” With that parting shot, he made his escape without a backwards glance, rubbing his neck.

After examining the wound and deciding it wasn’t worth worrying about, Remus left the warehouse, wandering the streets in a daze, his thoughts in an uproar. First Dumbledore had mentioned a spy, and now Regulus was going to see Sirius. What was Sirius doing meeting with his Death Eater brother? Desperately, he tried to push the suspicion aside. Sirius had chosen his own family; the Marauders were his family, not his dried-up, vicious blood relatives. Whatever else, he told himself determinedly, Sirius cares for us—James is more his brother than that git. Sirius couldn’t be the spy. As he walked farther and farther, the night air began to clear his head. What he’d told Lily still held, he reminded himself; the present moment was the only moment worth living for. Worrying about the next day or what some Death Eater had said wouldn’t get him anywhere.

***

Sirius sat at the table, gripping his glass tightly and glaring across the table at his brother, who sat there with an insufferable expression on his face. It had been a mistake to listen to Andromeda, thought. This was all a mistake. Too much had happened between them for any attempt at reconciliation. The pub itself wasn’t helping the cause; it was dark and dirty, and most of its patrons seemed to subscribe to the notion of covering as much of their face and body as possible without suffocating.

“So,” he said, trying to make conversation. “How is Walburga these days?”

Regulus shrugged, his eyes never leaving Sirius. “Dead.”

Sirius blinked. Dead. His mother was dead. Not that it mattered to him, he thought hastily. As far as he was concerned, his mother was dead to him the day he left Grimmauld Place. He’d made his own family.

And so, it seemed, had Regulus, though he hadn’t admitted it. When Regulus had sat down at the table, his sleeve had gotten pushed up, and Sirius had seen the Dark Mark. He scowled and took a drink.

“You don’t look all that upset about it,” he remarked.

“Neither do you,” Regulus shot back. “But then, I suppose you’re proud of being the blood traitor who broke his mother’s heart.”

“She never cared for me,” Sirius growled. “All she wanted was an heir to carry on the line of pureblood freaks.”

Regulus slammed his glass down and looked angrily at Sirius. “Yes,” he breathed. “I forgot. You’re different. You made your _own_ way. You went happily off, leaving me to manage everything. Father was dead, Mother was crazy, and you went off on your own because you couldn’t stand being related to one of the noblest families in England.”

“Maybe,” Sirius snapped back. “Or maybe I just didn’t want to go blindly down the path of least resistance because it was easy. Maybe I learned to think for myself and hated what I saw in them—in all of them.”

When they were growing up, Sirius had known his brother better than anyone else, and at another time he might have thought Regulus sounded desperate, even hopeless. But the flash of emotion was soon gone, and Sirius decided that it had only been in his head. He’s got no qualms about following a demented madman to supposed fame and glory, he reminded himself. He’s happy exactly where he is.

Regulus leaned forward over the table. A thoughtful expression came over his face. “Perhaps you should have done a better job of choosing your friends, then.” 

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, that I should have gone with pureblood stooges who toed the line?”

Regulus looked faintly amused. “Not exactly,” he said, and paused, clearly enjoying Sirius’s frustration. Sirius’s patience, never long to begin with, finally snapped.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” Sirius growled, standing to leave. “I should have known this was a bad idea.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows. “Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the run-in I had with your pet werewolf the other day?”

In two strides, Sirius was standing over his younger brother. He leaned down and spoke in a quiet, menacing voice. “What did you do to Remus?”

“Oh, nothing.” Regulus looked unperturbed. “He nearly killed me, that’s all. I think he’s quite enjoying being part of Greyback’s crew.”

Sirius blanched. Greyback? Remus would never willingly serve the wolf who had bit him. “You’re lying,” he accused. 

“I swear it on our mother’s grave,” Regulus said, looking straight into Sirius’s face. “Not that that means anything to you.” He lifted his chin, and Sirius could see slight bruising on his neck. “That’s a gift from him.”

Sirius found that there were no words he wanted to waste on this Death Eater who had once been his brother. He drew back and very calmly punched Regulus in the mouth, then turned and walked out the door into the rain. But as fast as he walked, Regulus’s words still echoed in his mind. He growled in frustration and shook his head. Regulus had to be lying. No reason on earth could ever compel Remus to join Greyback, he knew, but even so, his uneasiness grew with every step.

***

Remus was cleaning the remains of lunch from the table, enjoying the summer breeze blowing softly through the open window, when Sirius returned from the christening of the newest of the Potters. He entered the kitchen, giving Remus a quick peck on the cheek. “Eat without me, did you?”

Remus gave him a friendly shove. “I thought Lily and James were going to feed you, you great bottomless pit.”

Sirius inspected what was left of the bread and cheese Remus had been eating, helping himself to tidbits. “They did.” He shrugged. “I’m still hungry.”

“How are they?” asked Remus, a little wistful. He hadn’t seen either of his friends for months. After their home had been attacked by Death Eaters, Lily and James had agreed with Dumbledore that it would be best if their whereabouts remained unknown for the most part. He’d exchanged a few letters with Lily, and she’d sent him a picture of Harry, who seemed to be mostly a scrunched up face and little pudgy arms, but it wasn’t the same. Sirius had been the godfather, of course, and although Remus felt a little jealous that he’d gotten to go to the christening and seen their friends, Lily had privately assured him that he was going to be the godfather for their next child.

Sirius glanced at him. “They’re fine. Tired, I think. Little Harry’s pretty feisty.”

Remus chuckled. “Taking after both his parents, I guess.” Sirius nodded in reply.

Remus sat at the table and studied the other man, who was now picking through the cabinets in search of food. Sirius seemed distant, preoccupied; he had been so for a few days. Remus had been worried, but that morning, while Sirius was away, he’d found the letter. He’d been cleaning up around the house, and had happened across it on Sirius’s desk. It had the Gringotts seal on it, and, curious, he had picked it up; Sirius had always disliked the goblins and their bank.

_Dear Mr. Black,_ the letter had read. _We are pleased to inform you that given the death of your brother, Regulus Arcturus Black, you are now the sole owner and beneficiary of the Black family account. A representative will be contacting you shortly to answer any questions you may have._

The letter had continued, but Remus had dropped it as if it burned his fingers. So Regulus was dead. Killed by who? he had wondered—Death Eaters or the Order? It explained, at least, why Sirius had been acting oddly.

As he sat watching Sirius prowl around the kitchen, Remus knew he should ask him about what Regulus had said, ask if he’d ever met with his brother, and give lie to the words that still bothered him. But he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt their delicate balance, this haven of peace in the chaos of the world outside, and when Sirius came up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders, Remus leaned back into the touch, pushing all thoughts of Regulus and secret meetings from his head.

***

Remus paced the room, twitching at small noises and the shadows in the corners, his nerves jangling unpleasantly. The clock on the mantel ticked at him in annoyance, pounding against his skull, shattering his thoughts. His skin itched with the _wrongness_ of the wolf inside their flat. The wolf was not supposed to be here. This was _Remus’s_ life, and the wolf had no place in it. The wolf belonged to the shadows and the full moon, not here in his flat, his sanctuary.

This was the worst part about his missions to the wolves; the shifting in and out of the wolf’s mind, trying to keep control when the wolf fought constantly for dominance. Each time he surrendered to the wolf in his human form, he had discovered, it got harder to find his human thoughts.

It helped to be in a familiar place, but Dumbledore’s office was being used by the Order, so he’d had to come home. He tried to surface, to breathe slowly and deeply and calm himself, tried to come back to quiet, slightly shabby Remus Lupin, who stood for goodness and the comfort found in a good book, a mug of tea and a bar of chocolate, with a large shaggy dog to warm your feet.

But the wolf was strong tonight, stronger than usual. It was too much; too close to the full moon, too much time with others who had no inhibitions, no morals, no qualms. _And why shouldn’t we be like them,_ the wolf snarled. _Why should we be unable to take what we want? Why should we hold back from our full potential when it would be so easy to..._

“Stop!” Remus yelled, falling to his knees, not realizing he’d shouted aloud. _I can’t, I can’t; it would ruin everything,_ he thought desperately. He felt the wolf’s protest rising within him and gripped it tightly, slowly regaining control. He took a deep breath—perhaps, for tonight, he would be safe...

But as he began to relax, there was a soft _crack_ of an Apparation in the next room, and the wolf-instinct roared back into control, stronger than ever. Remus tensed on the floor, nostrils flaring. Someone was here; someone was intruding on _his_ ground. His nose wasn’t as sharp in this form, but he could smell stale human sweat and fear, almost overpowered by the stench of smoke.

“Moony?” a voice called. “You home?” Remus tried to pause, to think; he _knew_ that voice, he knew it better than any other voice in the world... But he was too slow. The wolf would have none of it: there was a human here, a man ready for the taking.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he waited, alert and still, for them to come within striking distance. Almost. He would have to be quick, very quick...

“Remus? Are you alright? What are you...”

In one smooth motion, Remus leapt up and around, snarling as he crashed into the other man and slammed him face-down into the floor. The man swore and struggled, but Remus held him down easily. The fear was stronger now, and there was new blood somewhere. The thrill of it made the wolf in him giddy, made him howl to the gibbous moon. The man stilled immediately, and Remus turned his attention back to his victim.

He turned the man over—he wanted him to look into the face of his worst fears. When he looked down again, he saw Sirius trapped beneath him, met Sirius’s eyes, wide with panic bordering on outright terror.

_Sirius_

Remus let go and stumbled back, shaking, until he came up against the wall. The wolf was gone, banished finally by shock, and he was fully Remus again, Remus who had— _oh Merlin_ —attacked his best friend, his lover, the only thing keeping sane in the darkness of a broken world, and he would wake up in a moment, he knew it, this wasn’t, couldn’t be true, and Sirius would be lying beside him, smiling at, instead of sitting up and wincing as he touched the gash on his forehead...

“Remus,” said Sirius, looking up, and Remus shattered under his look. He shook his head, found comfort in the repetitive motion. _No,_ he repeated to himself. _It’s not real. It can’t be real. I’ll wake up in a moment... just one minute more and we’ll be free of this nightmare..._

“Remus,” Sirius repeated, sounding as disbelieving as Remus felt. “What the _hell_ was that?” He kept looking at Remus, who knew that he was waiting for the answer, waiting for him to laugh and say _wasn’t that a funny prank?_ and help him up from the floor. 

The clock calmly ticked off the long seconds as they stared at each other from across the room, frozen. Remus couldn’t face that stare, couldn’t face the hurt forming behind it, the hurt that cut down to his bones. Not tonight.

“Sirius,” he managed finally. “I didn’t... I couldn’t...” He couldn’t finish the thought.

He fled the room, fled the scene of his greatest crime. The door slammed behind him, but he could still feel that stare driving into his heart: the wounded, accusing stare of the one person in the world he thought he’d never be able to hurt.

***

Sirius paced the room, hands buried in his hair. James watched him with worried eyes.

“I don’t believe it,” Sirius burst out. “My—our Moony! Remus! I can’t believe it,” he repeated.

“Maybe it was just a joke gone wrong?” James suggested. Sirius threw him a look.

“You weren’t there, James. You didn’t see his face.”

“Are you sure he was going to hurt you, though? Remus would never—”

“I’m telling you, Prongs, I thought he was going to rip my throat out. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” Sirius collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands. What had happened to Remus, his Remus, who smiled at him quietly and ate cheese sandwiches without the crust and sent his heart racing with a glance? The man who had pinned him to the floor and howled to the moon wasn’t the Remus he knew, and if he had a choice, he’d say that Remus had looked less like a man and more like a...

“Wolf,” he murmured, his eyes widening with the realization.

“What?” asked James, but Sirius waved him silent distractedly, his mind racing. The wolf. The wolf had been controlling Remus tonight, until Remus had seen his face and come back to himself. Regulus had said Remus was with the werewolves working for Voldemort. Sirius shook his head, not wanting to believe it, but nothing else made sense—Remus would never attack him unless the wolf’s baser instincts were in control.

“Oh, Remus,” he said softly. “What have you done?”

James sighed impatiently. “Sirius, what are you muttering about?”

Sirius looked at him, pushing aside all other thoughts. “Remus is working with the werewolves. He must have gone to them tonight, and when he got back to our flat, the wolf was still in control. When he heard me, all the wolf could think was that someone was on its territory.” He got up and walked to the window, feeling very old and tired as he looked up at the moon.

Behind him, James was making indignant noises. “Sirius, you can’t possibly—”

“It’s true, James. It’s the only idea that works. Remus wouldn’t attack anyone unless the wolf had control, and he’d only give the wolf control if he had no other choice.”

There were a few minutes of silence. Sirius could hear James moving behind him, pacing the room.

“Listen, Sirius, you know Dumbledore thinks there’s a spy in the Order,” James said slowly. Sirius shrugged, not turning around, his mind still on the look in Remus’s eyes as he ran out the door. “He’s got it narrowed down,” James continued. “He thinks it’s in our group. It’s one of the Marauders.”

Sirius turned around, feeling as if he were moving through thick syrup. His ears were buzzing. “What?” he asked quietly. “That’s impossible.”

James watched him impassively. “That’s what Dumbledore thinks. And look, Sirius, I hate it just as much as you do, but you have to admit, it makes sense.”

Sirius wanted to scream and throw things, wanted to throw a tantrum worthy of his mother, but instead he nodded slowly, closing his eyes and slumping back against the wall.

“Merlin, it’s all gone pear-shaped, hasn’t it?” he said, half to himself.

James was still watching him worriedly, and Sirius forced himself upright. James had a wife and child to worry about, and an insane murderer with aspirations to glory hot on his trail. Sirius needed to be strong for James. He took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. About Dumbledore’s plan. I think it’s a good one, and I think you should go ahead with it. It’ll be a bit of a wrench, not knowing when I’ll get to see you two and the sprog again, but it’s for the best.” James opened his mouth, a puzzled expression on his face, but Sirius plowed ahead. “Use Peter for the plan. No one will expect that, and we won’t tell anyone.”

“Sirius, what in Merlin’s name are you going on about?”

Sirius looked up at his friend. James stood in front of him, brow creased in worry and confusion. “Look, James,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, “I think most people know you’re going into hiding under Fidelius after that last attack. It’s the logical thing to do, right? And most people will also assume that you’ll use me as your Secret Keeper, since we’re so close. They won’t expect you to use Peter. We’ll hide you away using him, and then he’ll go undercover himself. I’m too recognizable, but he can hide away fairly easily. You’ll be safer.”

James still looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

Sirius nodded. “Absolutely.” His stomach was churning, and he took a breath, trying to calm himself.

James sighed. “I just don’t like it. It feels too much like running away.”

“What?” Sirius shook his head and put his hands on James’s shoulders, shaking his friend gently. “You’re not running away, you wanker. You’re protecting Lily and Harry. You’ve got to keep them safe, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” James said with a sad smile. “I just wish you weren’t.”

***

When Sirius finally left and returned home, he opened the door to his flat cautiously, peering into the darkness. “Moony?” he called softly. There was no answer. Remus was gone. Sirius wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He moved aimlessly through the silent flat, collecting a bottle of Firewhiskey from the kitchen before coming to rest on the couch in front of the fireplace. He opened the bottle and took a pull, closing his eyes against the sting, trying to ignore the hole in his gut.

Regulus was gone, killed, who knew how. Sirius wouldn’t put it past Voldemort to have personally ordered him to be killed. He didn’t even know if they’d found his brother’s body, didn’t know if there had been a funeral. He’d tried so hard to convince himself that it didn’t matter, it still hurt. He took another mouthful of Firewhiskey against the pain, leaning his head against the back of the couch.

Remus. He didn’t know what to think about Remus anymore. He swore and took another pull from the bottle. Where was he? What had he really been doing when he said he was off doing work for the Order? Remus was his rock—what was he supposed to do when something which he had thought solid crumbled? He pressed his hand to his forehead. Bloody hell, he thought despondently. His world was burning and all he could do was sit and drink and worry.

The clock taunted him, slowly counting the seconds, minutes they had left before the end. He glared at it. It had been a bad idea to take it, he knew that now. Sentiment for people who had taken everything from him: his childhood, his brother, his love. It didn’t know or care that lunatics were taking over, killing the light and life in the world, trying to assassinate babies. He stood up and walked over to it, taking it in his hands. It growled at him, but he looked at it dispassionately. There was nothing he liked about it, really. It stood for everything he’d rejected, everything he hated.

He raised it above his head and threw it down, smashing it on the brick of the fireplace. It shattered nicely, he thought, the silver ornaments broken and glinting on the floor, the wood splintered and cracked. He sat back down on the couch and raised the bottle in a silent toast before tipping it back.

***

Remus hesitated at the door of their flat, collecting himself. He had gone to Dumbledore, begged him to give him a different mission, anything else. Dumbledore had listened sympathetically, and politely refused. So Remus had dragged himself dejectedly back, dreading facing Sirius again. He opened the door quietly and slipped into the flat. He stood for a moment inside the door, his eyes adjusting. The flat was dark and silent—had Sirius left? he thought with sudden dread. He walked through the kitchen, searching, not allowing himself to panic.

His fears subsided as he caught sight of Sirius’s dark, messy-haired head over the back of the couch. “Sirius?” he said tentatively. Nothing. He padded around to the front of the sofa, and saw that Sirius was passed out, an empty Firewhiskey bottle on the floor, his mouth open as he snored softly. Remus smiled despite himself and reached out to smooth the lines on Sirius’ forehead. He sat down carefully next to the other man, trying not to disturb him.

A small, forlorn noise from the floor drew his attention. The clock lay strewn in pieces, and he got up to look at it more closely. It was obviously beyond repair, he thought sadly as he knelt next to it. Someone—he suspected Sirius—had done quite a number on it. He sighed and laid his hand on the pieces.

“Ouch!” He yanked his hand back, glaring at the clock as he stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth, all sympathy gone. It had cut him on purpose, he was sure. He shook his head, retreating to the couch and curling up next to Sirius. Sirius sighed and leaned back against him, his head coming to rest on Remus’s shoulder. 

For a moment, Remus froze, unsure, until Sirius shifted closer, tucking his head under Remus’s chin. Slowly, Remus relaxed, and began to stroke Sirius’s hair. He sat there for what seemed like hours, softly running his hand through Sirius’s thick hair, waiting, vigilant, the moonlight winking off the broken gears of the dying clock.


End file.
